Take Me By the Hand And Tell Me (You Would Take Me Anywhere)
"Bugger, bugger, bugger," Jemma mutters as she paces madly in the office she'd been given as a dressing room, at least best she can given her mermaid-cut dress is both tight around her knees and excessively ruffled.
"Jemma, love" comes her mother's pleading voice through the door she'd locked after unceremoniously shoving her best friend and cousin Leo through before wedging a convenient chair under the knob.
"Tell her I'm not in here," Jemma hisses.
"Yes, that will go smashingly." Leo rolls his eyes at her before pitching his voice in a mocking falsetto. "Oh, no, Aunt Mary, Jemma's not here, even though everyone saw her lock us away in here, she's nicked off down the fire escape!"
Jemma swings around, the lace and silk of her dress rustling at the movement. "Fitz, you're a genius!"
Leo's eyes widen as he takes in her meaning. "I am a genius and so are you supposed to be, but you'd never know it if your actually thinking-"
"Jemma," her mom says again, rattling at the handle. "Tabby's spoken with Richard, he's very sorry for the… for the distraction… He's very sorry, lamb. Just come out, we'll start again and it will all be forgotten."
"Just… Just give me ten minutes, Mum. I need… I need to breathe and then I'll come down and we'll sort this out."
"Oh, good," Leo breathes. "We'll go downstairs, you'll tell Richard you can't marry him, go on your way."
"Don't be silly, Leo," Jemma says and gestures at her back. "I'm not going back downstairs. Now unbutton me so I can climb out the window and find somewhere to hire a cab."
"What! You're absolutely mad. Right barmy."
"Do you think I should marry Richard?"
"Well, no, but-"
"Then help me out! You know what will happen if I go downstairs. Mum and Auntie Tabby will fuss and flutter and talk about how they've dreamed of this moment since we were babes in arms, and Richard and I will end up convinced this is a good idea all over again."
Leo sighs. After a long pause, he walks over and begins unbuttoning the long line down her back from the top while she strains to reach the ones she can on the bottom.
"Should just cut the thing off," he grunts. "Not like you can return it."
"Well, no, but perhaps someone else will be in need of a dress. It's perfectly serviceable. It's barely been worn!"
"Because the bride is about to climb out a fire escape in…You can't mean to go outside in that, Jemma! It's practically underwear!"
"Don't sound so appalled," Jemma dismisses as she finally steps out of her dress. She picks up the heap of white and drapes it gently over the desk, then slides open the drawer where she'd tucked her purse earlier. "This slip is decent, I'm sure. I've seen celebrities wearing just this thing in magazines. One of those Victoria Secret models Leonardo DiCaprio has cycled through something like this just last week, I'm sure."
"Yes, and you've pointed out every time that they look like they're out in their pyjamas!"
"Well, it can't be helped." Jemma slides open the window. "Not like I can just nip over to the shop for a pair of trousers before coming back here to escape."
Leo presses his lips together, but doesn't argue further. Instead, he closes his eyes and, with a put upon expression, reaches into his back pocket. "You've got some cash then? I've got a little, but…"
Jemma's eyes soften. "Leo, you don't have to… I've got my credit card and a few notes…"
"Take it anyway," he says gruffly. "You'll want to pay the taxi. Will you go back to your loft?"
"The loft where mum and Richard have a key and will turn up the moment they find out I've skivved off?"
"Right," says Leo.
"I think I'll find a hotel for the night. Maybe a bit longer, let everyone calm down a wee bit."
"Let rational minds prevail and all that?"
"And all that," Jemma confirms. "It's a bit exciting, isn't it?"
"What? Running away from your wedding?"
"Yes," Jemma beams. "It's my own journey into mystery."
Leo shakes his head at her, but a smile smile quirks at the corner of his mouth at her enthusiasm. "You'll call me, when you get somewhere? Let me know you're safe?"
"Of course," Jemma nods, then moves to lift a knee to the window sill. She stops, turns back.
"What?"
"Don't give Richard a hard time," she admonishes him. "It's as much fault mine as his."
"Bollocks," Leo says automatically. "He's the one who-"
"Got just as caught up in the romanticism of our mothers' hopes," she says firmly. "And oh! Give him this, will you? After you've held them off as long you can?" She pulls the engagement ring from her finger and hold it to him. He sighs, but takes it.
"As long as you can," she repeats, makes sure her purse strap is securely across her body, hikes up her slip so she can crawl up onto the window sill to reach over to the fire escape. She makes her way carefully down the ladder, to the next few stories down.
She is nearly to the bottom when the dreadful shoes she's wearing slip on one of the rungs. She lets out an involuntary yelp – it's not a far drop left, but not one she'd choose to make – but doesn't fall. Instead, a pair of warm hands find her hips and steady her.
"Careful, there."
The hands stay firmly in place until she's safely on the ground, then drop when she turns around to be faced with might well be the most beautiful man she's ever seen, and that included the ones in magazines.
"Thank you," she says after a beat. She's usually quicker on the uptake, but well. He certainly is attractive. She can't be faulted for taking an extra second to admire. "That might had been very painful, had you not been lurking about in the alley just now."
It strikes her, all of a sudden, and she takes a step back, the metal rungs pressing into her spine. "What are you doing lurking in the alley?" she asks warily, hoping Fitz is still in the room upstairs.
He seems to register her fear and takes a step back, holding his hands up in a placating gesture.
"Not lurking," he says, tilting the corner of his mouth into a half smile. "I was here doing an assessment for security as a favor and parked my bike in the alley. Seems like there's a lot of dignitaries at this wedding, and my CO tasked me with checking in to help an old buddy of his. I'm with SHIELD."
She breathes a sigh of relief as he pulls out a badge and lets her examine it. She'd known Richard's family's involvement in American politics was vast, so it doesn't really surprise her that they've somehow pulled strings enough that the government's international security branch is topping up their safety staff.
"Well, thank you very much, Agent… Ward?" she says, glancing down once more at the badge before handing it back.
"Grant," he smiles at her, and if her insides flutter, well, she's just going to ignore it. "I'm technically on vacation."
"Grant," she says. "Well, I do appreciate the assistance. Now I'll just…" She gestures vaguely.
"Continue running from your wedding, Jemma Simmons? Because I've seen your file, and even if you weren't all in white…"
"Oh, drat. I was rather hoping you'd missed that? I don't suppose you'd be willing to look the other way while I find somewhere quiet to call a taxi?" She blinks up at him with wide eyes.
"Sorry, but I can't do that." Her smile dims. "Sweetheart, I'm not going to drag you in there kicking and screaming. I just don't think it's that safe for you to be wandering by yourself dressed in a slip and silk stockings, even in this neighbourhood."
"I hadn't thought of that," she says, dismay colouring her voice. She very much does not want to go inside, where everyone and their well-meaning ways will steamroller her into a marriage that is clearly not what either she or Richard wants. They'd been content to make a life together, but perhaps they could be more than that. Perhaps they could be happy. But in order for that to happen, she knows she cannot go back inside. She's just in the process of wondering whether the taxi would come in the back to fetch her and whether it might get there before she's missed, when Grant holds out a hand.
"Can I offer you a ride out of here?"
"Yes, please. Only… would you mind making a quick stop on the way?"
The quick stop he is kind enough to chauffer her to is to a strip mall, where he parks at the box Walmart. The ride there had been thrilling. He'd kindly zipped her into his leather jacket and given her his helmet, despite her protests. He'd tucked her purse in the bike's storage compartment for safety, then pulled her up behind him, wrapping her arms around his torso. His very firm torso. He's certainly very fit. She's certain she could count his abs through the material of his black tee shirt if she wasn't terribly concerned she'd be tempted let her hands drift lower than is proper once she started.
She tells him she'll be very fast, if he wants to wait outside – she doesn't want to inconvenience him – but he shrugs as he passes her purse to her and says he has a thing or two to pick up himself anyway. He parts ways with her once they are inside, tells her he'll find her once he's got what he's looking for.
She snags a little basket and makes her way through the aisles, picking up toiletries like a toothbrush and toothpaste and good conditioner for while she hides out, before snagging a pair of flat canvas trainers and a backpack, then heads to the clothing aisle. She's just tugged down the pair of jeans she found, not having bothered with the changing room, when he makes his way back to her, bag in hand.
"Finding everything?"
"Yes, thank you!" she chirps, tossing a second set of identical jeans in her basket since the first pair fit. "Just going to grab a few more things, if that's alright?"
"Take your time, sweetheart. I'm not in a rush."
"Oh, but aren't I interrupting your holiday?" she asks, tugging a cardigan in her size off a hanger to throw in the basket and following it with a couple of tank tops and a jumper, thankful she'd already grabbed a bra, socks and underthings before he'd finished with his purchase.
He grimaces at the word holiday, and she feels suddenly terrible. "Oh, it's not you," he reassures her, her expressive face easily conveying her emotions even to those she's just met. She tilts her head in question.
"It's my new CO – Commanding Officer." Grant grimaces again. "He saw that I hadn't taken more than a day at a time, if that, in years. Coulson is all about work life balance. Told me to take a month and if I couldn't prove I'd had at least a little fun, he's putting me behind a desk indefinitely."
"So what are you going to do, then? To prove you have fun, that is?" she asks, letting him take her basket when she's determined she has enough supplies to hideaway for a while. His hand falls to the small of her back as he guides her toward the till, and she wonders if it is just her that feels the crackle of energy between them.
"I don't know," he grumbles. "Drive around, see the country. Take selfies at national monuments like I'm a goddamned Kardashian."
"How very patriotic of you," she teases, liking the easy comfort already between them.
"What about you?"
"Me?"
"Yeah. Pretty sure making your way to a roadside motel wasn't on your original plans."
"Well, no," she admits. "I am supposed to be on my honeymoon now. Richard booked a bed and breakfast out of the city for a few days. His father is on the campaign trail, and Richard said he couldn't take more time away. So I'm not missing anything terribly exciting."
"Look, I have to ask, because you don't sound terribly enthused about the guy. Why were you marrying him?"
Jemma sighs. "I suppose I got caught up. Our mothers were childhood best friends, you see. Aunt Tabby got married and moved to America, but Richard was sent to boarding school in England and stayed with our family on school holidays, and then when I went for my second uni degree, since I was still quite young, I stayed with his family. Our mums kept trying to set us up, so finally we started dating. We weren't passionately love, but we do care for one another and were sexually compatible enough, and I suppose it seemed more than enough when our mums were so happy. Until…"
"Until?"
Jemma starts placing her items on the conveyer belt to be rung through. "Until I was walking up the aisle, and instead of looking at me, my husband-to-be's eyes were dreamily on his ex-girlfriend. They'd insisted they were just friends, and I think they both truly believed it, but it wasn't until the music had stopped and I had stopped that he even noticed we'd begun."
"Ouch," Grant winces on her behalf as she pays, then begins tightly rolling her things into the backpack.
"Yes, well," Jemma says. "It was embarrassing, to say the least, but I'd rather be embarrassed than stand in the way of anyone's opportunity for happiness."
"Even if it means having to sneak out a fire escape to get away from your own wedding."
"Even that, yes," Jemma laughs. "Our mums are very persuasive. I couldn't take the chance I'd be talked down the aisle again. I'm terribly stubborn, but even that has its limits. I didn't even pick my own dress or shoes! And they were both dreadfully uncomfortable."
With that, she kicks the offending pumps off, tearing the tags off her new slip-ons and sliding her feet off. She bends down to pick up the shoes, then holds out her arm for the backpack. Grant protests, but finally helps her shrug into it. Once they are outside the store, she triumphantly pitches her shoes into the nearest bin, earning a chuckle from her companion.
Back at his bike, he pulls out a brand new helmet from the bag he'd been carrying.
"Oh, you didn't have to…"
"It's no big deal," he says, helping her adjust it on her head. "The motel's a bit of a ways out, and I'd rather not get pulled over for breaking the law. And this one fits better. Can't risk that pretty little head."
"Well, will you at least let me pay for it?"
"Not a chance, sweetheart," he says. "Now climb on."
The ride to the motel where Grant is staying is outside of town, and does take them nearly forty-five minutes to travel to, even though he's an excellent driver, weaving through traffic with expertise. She likes the way it feels, pressed up behind him, the vibrations of the engine running through her whole body, feeling the heat of his hard thighs in his jeans through the thin silk of her gartered stockings.
When he pulls into the parking lot of the motel, he parks next to a pickup truck and helps her off the back of the bike. She pulls off her helmet and hands it to him as he pulls off his, pressing a fob on the keys. The pickup beeps as the doors unlock, and she jumps in surprise. He puts the helmets behind the seat, closes the door and turns back to her.
"Now we have a couple of options here," he says, stepping into her space and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"We do?" she asks.
"Yeah," he says. His hand drops to run down her arm before landing on her waist. "I'm going to secure my bike into the back of the pickup. And when I'm done I can walk you to the front desk, make sure you get checked in for the night, or…"
"Or?" Her voice comes out in a husky whisper.
"Or we can skip the second room and you can let me take you back to my room, to see just how this chemistry between us pans out."
"Well," she says, wetting her lips and watching his gaze drop to her lips. "I am a chemist by trade."
He chuckles and pulls her closer even as she comes onto her toes. Their lips meet and she's melting into him, every contact between them explosive. He unzips her jacket – his jacket – and his hands are on the silk and she wants them on her skin.
"I think," she says as they break apart breathless, "that you should secure your bike very, very quickly."
He grins. "Oh, I don't know. I think it might be fun making you wait. Taking my time here. Taking my time with you. Sweetheart, we're going to put that honeymoon you aren't having to shame."
"I'm holding you to that," Jemma reaches up to nip his jaw.
"Do."
She wakes up the next morning, a pleasant soreness in muscles that got quite the workout, when the bed depresses next to her.
"Hey sweetheart," Grant drops a kiss to her bare shoulder and she burrows a little under the sheet, not quite ready to be awake. "I thought you might like hot cup of tea before we need to shower and check out."
"You made me tea?" she says, holding the sheet to her chest as she sits up. She's not sure, exactly, why she does it, given he's everything up close and very personal only hours before.
"Grabbed it from the little restaurant," he says, smirking at her a little and tracing a finger above the sheet. She shivers, though not from cold. "It's not the greatest, but neither is their coffee, so…"
"Well, thank you," she says as he passes her the cup and she takes a long cup as he moves to sit near the edge. She takes a few sips while he checks his phone. It gives her an idea. "Oh! Can I see your phone a moment? Does it have a camera?"
He quirks an eyebrow at her, and she holds out a hand until he hands it over, though he does, she notes, put it directly on the camera mode. She presses up behind him, her cheek against his, and takes a picture, not bothering to smooth down what is very clearly sex hair.
"There," she says. "Now you can show your boss you had fun. If the monuments don't do the trick."
He turns around to look at her a long moment, long enough she begins to blush under the scrutiny. Then he's taking her tea and setting it on the nightstand and kissing her until she's lost in him all over again.
"Come with me," he invites.
"What?" She can't think when he kisses her like that.
"Come with me," he repeats. "If you don't have anywhere to be."
"I don't," she says honestly. "I took the summer off from teaching because of the wedding."
"Then come with me," he states again. "I want more of you."
"But what if we grow tired of one another?"
"We won't," he smiles, nuzzling a mark he left on her last night.
"But what it we do?" she frets. "I don't want to impose and…"
"If we get tired of each other, I'll take you home," he promises. "But we won't."
He sounds so sure. And if she's honest with herself, she wants so much more of him as well.
"Okay," she says.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," she nods, and the wicked smile that curves his lips in response melts her insides.
It's going to be an adventure, she's sure of it. She can't wait.